


Hook, Line, Sinner

by GasolineGhuleh



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: BDSM, Bindings, Blood, Chains, Consensual, Cutting, F/M, Fingering, Hooks, Knives, Needles, Sexual Violence, Violence, flaying, implied magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GasolineGhuleh/pseuds/GasolineGhuleh
Summary: A Sister finds a puzzle box within the hallowed basement of the Abbey, with stern warnings of what may happen if she solves the box. True to the rumors, she quickly finds herself overwhelmed by Papa Emeritus the Second, and his insatiable love for sensations...Human suffering can provide pleasure. Let him show you.You opened the box. He came.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus II/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Scary Stories To Tell In The Abbey





	Hook, Line, Sinner

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains: blood, needles, knives, pain, and piercing. Do not read if you are triggered by violence.

Your hands shake as you unroll the parchment paper, the simple instructions lettered in clear black font. It took you ages to work up the courage to make your way to the notorious basement of the Abbey. So many rumors abound with this place-- the texts that could be located if you bothered to look, the Unholy artifacts that thrummed with power, and even the forbidden and chained texts along the walls. Your fingers tingle at the raw magic contained within the room and the paper shakes in your hands. Quietly, you mouth the words on the paper once more to yourself.

“Pleasure can be yours, if you reach out and take it…”. Determination and curiosity renewed, you crumple the parchment in your fist and step forward, ducking into the lowered doorway before you. A light flares to life on its own and you startle slightly, breath catching in your throat. 

On an altar of stone before you is a puzzle box, brown wood and glinting gold. Before you can change your mind you move forward and snatch the thing up, tossing it softly before catching it again like a baseball. Sister Lunaria had warned you about the thing, but you have to see it for yourself. After all, if it really does summon him… An excited thrill runs up your spine at the possibilities. 

With a grunt, you twist the pieces of the puzzle box together until they click with a satisfying sound. The room around you darkens as the altar pulses with dark magics. A breeze whips around your ankles and up your thighs, just kissing at your pelvis before moving away with the feeling of a lover scorned. Your robe slides itself off of your body as if in the hands of another but when you whirl around, you’re alone. 

“Hello?” you call, backing up to the altar and sitting on it. You’re unsure how long you have to wait-- all of the whispers that you had heard among the Clergy said that it should be immediate, if he chooses you. The door slams and you gasp again, your hand coming to your chest in shock. It takes you a moment to realize that there’s already a hand clutched there, cupping your breast. 

“Sister.” Your eyes flick from your chest to above you, and you feel your insides turn to fear when you see the haunting two-toned visage of Papa Emeritus the Second. He’s dressed in his green and black robe, and the mitre that signifies his position as one of the leaders of your church is missing, leaving his head bald. “The box. You opened it. I came.”

“Pa-Papa,” you stutter, bowing your head towards him in reverence even as the icy grip of fear latches onto your heart. You know very well the contract that you signed by opening the box… a contract that you must live up to, or suffer. 

“You will feel pleasures beyond your wildest comprehension… or die trying, Sister.” His finger comes to your chin as he tilts your head back, his eyes boring deep into yours. “I have such sights to show you… to give you… to take from you.” His fingernail scratches along your chin as he drags it towards your lip, tugging your lower lip down slightly until you drop your jaw open for him. 

“What will you do with me?” you ask, cringing at your inability to form words as he holds your jaw open in his steel like grip. You wince as his hand snaps out to grip your face by your cheeks, pushing you back onto the altar until you’re flat on your back. With a snap of one of his hands, chains rattle up around the altar and bind your waist to the platform. He caresses the side of your face gently, cooing at you almost as he snaps again. Restraints clink along the altar like snakes, binding your wrists and ankles to the slab.

“Not with you, child. To you.” Almost curious, he runs a hand down your body to your cunt and his lips turn upward into a smile when he finds you wet. “So soon? You haven’t even tasted my pleasure… the things that I can make you feel.” Papa’s hand moves to a pocket in his robes and he draws out a ball gag, dangling it before you. “Is this what you wish for, child? Do you wish to feel the pleasures and sensations beyond a mortal human?” 

“Yes, Papa. I signed the deal. I solved the box.” You open your mouth obediently and allow him to affix the ball gag to you, your eyes never leaving the stern countenance of his face.

“Then let’s begin,” he says, unbuttoning his robe and allowing it to fall to the floor. He’s naked underneath, and his cock stands half-hard in front of you from a thicket of neatly trimmed pubic hair. Papa keeps his leather gloves on his hands as he leans to the base of the altar and picks up a blade, shining in the flickering light of the room. 

You draw in a deep breath as the first slice of the blade sears across your flesh, just under your right breast. The warm trickle of blood is comforting at first before the sting of the cut sets in. Against your better judgement, you squeeze your eyes shut-- watching the thing was almost as bad as feeling it. It proves to be a sound choice when the next cut doesn’t hurt as badly as you expected, a mirror image to the previous one. A warm and damp cloth presses itself to your chest and you open your eyes, watching as Papa daubs some of the blood away.

“Watching the blood ooze is almost as good as the pleasure itself, Sister… Watch as it wells up between my fingers, like so.” Another flash of the blade, and the silver digs deep into the flesh of your upper thigh. Instantly his hand clamps down on it, and you watch as the scarlet liquid flows around the leather of his glove and trickles down your thigh in thick rivulets, staining your delicate flesh where it treds. 

Papa gathers some of the blood onto his fingertip and brings it to his lips, running his tongue lewdly around the digit and taking it into his mouth. His eyes flutter in ecstasy as he tastes you on him, finally bringing his teeth to the fingertip of the glove and pulling it off. He repeats the motion with the other hand and tosses both gloves to the ground. Papa runs his bare hand across your midriff, breathing in deeply as he caresses the smooth skin there. He brings the blade back to your flesh, carving a II into your skin without lifting the blade. You’re keenly aware of how your flesh parts like butter softened by a heated knife, and the agony hits only moments after.

As soon as you keen around the ball gag, Papa leans over you swiftly and slides two fingers inside of you, pumping them quickly and scissoring them. Your vision fades and swims as your eyes roll back into your head, your hips straining against the chain that holds you. Against your will, a tear slides from your eye and rolls down your cheek to land in your ear. He leans over you and croons, swiping the trail away with the clean edge of the knife. 

“No tears, Sister… Such a waste of good suffering.” The fingers inside of you twist as his thumb presses into your clit, his free hand moving to the carved mark in your stomach. He presses on it just enough to spark the pain through your body even as you shiver and quake your way through your orgasm, moaning and screaming against the ball gag in your mouth. Drool seeps its way around the gag and down your neck, leaving cool trails on your skin.

As you come back to yourself, your eyes flutter open and you watch as Papa drags a wet cloth across your skin, gathering the sweat and blood before disposing of it. Another cloth appears in the bowl of warm water at the base of the altar, but you don’t have time to marvel at it. This room appears, for all intents and purposes, to be a normal room but you can feel it thrumming with power that emanates from where the puzzle box rests. 

“Ah, but we are not done yet, are we?” Papa leans over you once more, holding a needle in front of you. Your eyes widen as he brings it to your breast, pinching some skin between his thumb and forefinger. He slides the needle neatly through your skin and leaves it, giving you a bored through piercing. Pain blooms as a pinprick that spreads to a burn before fading, leaving you breathing heavily and almost eager for the next one. Sure enough, he holds another needle up for you to examine-- this one is larger, and he gives you a moment to feel the fear in your heart before repeating the action. 

Papa daubs at your skin with the damp washcloth before bringing his hand to his cock. He strokes himself swiftly, his eyes locked on the needles piercing your flesh before he stops, breathing heavily as his chest heaves. Your eyes are locked on his cock, leaking pre-cum, and it’s almost an effort to drag them back to his hands. Once you do, however, you whimper and twist against your bonds. 

“One left, isn’t there, dear? The suffering is so sweet… lean into it.” Papa holds up a large bore fish hook for you to examine before bringing a hand to your ball gag, undoing it and letting it fall to the floor. You stretch your jaw to ease yourself of the burning ache that holding your mouth open has set in before his hand catches you. “One left… and this will be the sweetest agony, my newest pet.”

Papa brings the fish hook to your mouth, and slowly, painfully, begins to press the sharpened point of it to the inside of your cheek. He urges your mouth open farther as his hand rests on your lower jaw, keeping your mouth gaping open for him. Your eyes roll back into your head as you shake with the agony, the fish hook pressing against the delicate skin of the inside of your cheek. Suddenly, there’s a pop, and it’s through. 

You black out.


End file.
